Sacrifice
by Skriva
Summary: An ordinary December night in Gotham becomes marked with tragedy for Batman when a simple arrest goes wrong and the Joker intervenes. What happens when someone takes a bullet meant for another? WARNING: Major Character Death! No Pairing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

 **Hey Munchies I'm back! This Fic has been bouncing around in my brain for some time now and I finally sat down long enough to get the first bit written :)**

 **Tragic and angsty (which is what I like best to write) so if sadness and death aint your cup of tea this probably isn't a story for you.**

 **REVIEWS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED! Leave one and I will love you forever!**

 **Now here we go:**

Cold.  
Snowflakes drifted haphazardly down onto the street, dusting it white.  
It was just another night. Like any other night in Gotham. Nothing ever really seemed to change; things stayed the same, the people stayed the same, it was almost a comfortable routine.  
Bruce looked toward the horizon, his breath escaping his lungs to freeze on the winter air; it was getting close to morning, the sky was still dark beneath the heavy storm clouds but soon a watery red sun would rise.  
And he could go back to the Batcave.  
His body ached for rest; he never seemed to have time to sleep between his delicate dance as vigilante and billionaire.  
Bruce sighed and swung down from the brick ledge, he would make one more round before heading home.  
The snow muffled everything, like a huge white blanket that wrapped the city tight and covered over the ugliness. The scars. The decay.  
Bruce blinked against the falling flakes, his face raw where his mask didn't cover.  
A deadened crash caught his attention, two thugs, their beanies pulled low over their eyes were exiting a pawnshop, arms piled high with stolen goods.  
Petty crooks.  
Bruce shook his head. There never seemed to be an end of them.  
The alarm was blaring as the pair began lumbering down the sidewalk, their progress slowed by the slick footing and the TV each carried.  
As Bruce dropped silently to the ground behind them he picked up snatches of their gruff conversation.  
"...kids got the flu again, Nichole's been frettin' over 'em 'n I think she's comin' down with it too."  
"Tough, just before Christmas too."  
"Yeah. Just my luck huh?"  
Bruce taps the two men on their sinewy shoulders, commenting quietly, "Nichole is going to have more than a case of the flu to worry about."  
"Batman!"  
One of the TVs crashes to the pavement as the thugs turn to face the masked vigilante.  
"Looks like you'll both be having Christmas dinner in jail." Bruce says as he dodges the other television as it is hurled past his head.  
"We'll see about that Creep." One of the thugs mutters lunging forwards.  
The fight lasts longer than what Bruce had initially estimated, the snow hindering him as he struggles to maintain good footing.  
The street is deserted as the three figures mesh into a flailing writhing mass, powdered snow scuffed and sent flying into the night wind.  
"You miserable fucker, it's time someone taught you a lesson!" One of the men by the name of Allen roars, blinking a fistful of snow from his eyes as Bruce lands a solid punch in his gut.  
"You boys are the ones who need a lesson." He retorts with a grunt as Allen returns his strike.  
The alarm continues to wail as Bruce slams Allen's partner into to pavement beside one of the broken TVs.  
Allen hisses, his cropped hair damp with snow and sweat, his beanie lying several feet away in the gutter. Blood is flowing freely from his twisted nose as he squints angrily at the Dark Knight, "You're going to pay for that."  
Bruce side steps the attack, dropping Allen with a quick kick to the ribs and another sigh.  
Gotham and her inhabitants never changed...they never learned either.  
He reaches into his utility belt for handcuffs; the police would be at the scene soon, the alarm was assurance of that.  
Bruce smiles faintly, he'd leave them an early Christmas present.  
Click.  
The sound of a pistol's hammer being pulled back turns him slowly around; Allen is sitting up, a cold grin creasing his features, "I said you were going to pay fucker."  
How had he not heard him taking out the gun? Bruce wonders in annoyance, reaching swiftly for a batarang.  
However not swiftly enough; Allen squeezes the trigger, the shot ringing out like a dull pop in the empty street as Bruce is shoved aside.  
Momentarily stunned he lies on the cold pavement, staring in confusion at the heavy laden clouds above. He feels no pain. No white hot burn from the bullet wound.  
Regaining his senses he quickly sits up, ears ringing from the blast. Allen is still sitting there, gun in hand although his grin has been replaced by bewilderment. Seizing his chance, Bruce delivers a sharp kick to the criminal's head, dropping him unconscious beside his partner.  
At a faint shuffling behind him Bruce whips around, batarang at the ready to find a familiar figure lying curled in the gutter.  
A crimson pool is beginning to spread on the snow, staining the ground and the purple cloth of the man's suit.  
Bruce lowers his weapon in confusion as he cautiously approaches the Joker, wary of his arch nemesis's uncharacteristic silence.  
"Joker."  
The lithe figure stirs as the Joker slowly draws his arms beneath himself and rolls over onto his back with a grunt of pain,  
"Ah Batsy. Fancy meeting you in a place like this."  
The brilliant green eyes crinkle at the corners as the Joker beams up at the Bat.  
Bruce kneels beside his enemy, feeling cold dread in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Joker's bloodstained suit front.  
"What did you do?"  
Joker rolls his eyes with an exasperated grimace, "Pushed you out of the way. What does it look like to you?"  
He's clutching his stomach rigidly with both hands, grinding his heels into the snow in silent agony.  
"You stupid fool." Bruce mutters tugging the clown's hands away from the wound.  
"You're w-welcome." Joker hisses, his long pale face twisting up in a gasp as Bruce places his own hand over the gaping hole.  
He can feel Joker spasming beneath his touch, the Clown Prince's body fighting against the blood loss as the crimson pool grows.  
"Why?"  
Joker smiles, a bloodstained hand coming to rest over the tops of Bruce's, "Couldn't let that nobody hurt my Batsy now c-could I?"  
He chokes suddenly, retching violently as blood spills from between his red lips and runs slowly down the side of his thin cheek.  
The bony fingers tighten over Bruce's as Joker gasps for air, the blood gurgling thickly in his throat.  
Bruce says nothing as he carefully scoops the trembling madman up in his arms, uncomfortably aware of how close his enemy is.  
"Aw why Batsy, I feel like a princess. I have my Dark Knight to carry me and keep me safe."  
"Shut up Joker."  
"Oh tut tut, no reason to be sour, it's almost Christmas!" Joker wheezes as he catches sight of a window display consisting of a brittle looking Christmas tree and dusty tinsel; his expression one of childlike glee.  
He taps a bloody fingertip against Bruce's chin, "Don't tell me the Defender of Gotham is a Grinch."  
"Keep talking and you can walk."  
Joker laughs, a weak gurgling noise that darkens the front of his suit with a fresh wave of blood, "No no Bats I'm afraid not."  
Bruce glares down at his nemesis, his steel blue eyes boring angrily down into the brilliant green orbs in a wordless dare to challenge him until Joker whispers softly, his bloody lips turned up in a small smile, "I can't feel my legs." 

**A/N: More soon so stay tuned!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

 **Final bit. Couldn't get it up as soon as I wanted because my computer was malfunctioning…but it's up now so enjoy :)**

 **Reviews make me happy by the way…just thought you should know.**

Damn it. Bruce looks down in horror at the Joker, why hadn't he said anything about his legs earlier, before he had picked him up and possibly damaged his spine further?  
By the look of pure ecstasy written across Joker's pale face he guesses that in the lunatic's warped mind being carried by Batman was a much more pressing matter than his mangled spine.  
"Where are we going Batsy?" Joker asks softly, his head resting against Bruce's shoulder companionably.  
Bruce looks down sharply, the faintness of the clown's voice setting off alarms inside his head. He had to get Joker to a hospital; or the Batcave.  
No. Bruce firmly shakes his head; even in a weakened state he could never trust Joker enough to bring him inside his secret sanctuary. A hospital would work fine.  
A small tap against his cowl jerks Bruce from his thoughts,  
"Anybody home in there?"  
"I'm taking you to a hospital."  
Joker gives a listless nod of acknowledgement, stiffening suddenly in Bruce's arms with an agonized cry when the Dark Knight picks up his pace to a near run.  
"Don't. Batsy." Joker draws in a ragged breath, shaking his head, "I know gentleness isn't one of your strong suits,"  
He chuckles quietly to himself before continuing, "but I'm afraid Dearest I'm in no condition to be jostled around like a football."  
"You're bleeding out Joker-"  
"Give the man a prize!"  
"-and you need medical attention. I'm trying to help you."  
"Running isn't helping me."  
Bruce looks up the blanketed street for the Batmobile, the streetlights gilding the storefronts like a scene off of a Christmas card.  
"It's beautiful isn't it?"  
Joker is gazing at the street before them, waves of green hair sticking to his forehead with feverish sweat.  
"Save your strength Joker." Bruce mutters, trudging carefully up the sidewalk as he listens for the familiar roar of the Batmobile's engine.  
"Is it just me or is it getting colder?" Joker asks, his rasping voice cutting through the silence all around them.  
Bruce instinctively draws the shaking frame of his adversary closer against himself; he didn't need the Batmobile's body scanner to know Joker was slipping into shock.  
"I rather like this side of you Batsy. Ma-Maybe I should get shot more often." The Clown Prince sighs, curling into the Dark Knight's embrace with relish.  
"No."  
Suddenly Bruce is struck from behind, losing his grip on Joker as the madman's body slides limply from his arms and Allen snarls, "Thought you'd seen the last of me huh?"  
Damn it.  
He looks quickly at the crumpled heap of purple suit, stricken with dread when Joker's eyes roll back in his head, blood bubbling from the gory wound in his stomach.  
Allen bares his teeth in a hideous snarl, pistol aimed squarely at Bruce's head, "Seeing as I missed the first time..."  
He fires and the Dark Knight ducks, the dull pop of the pistol making his ears ring.  
"You don't have to do this Allen!"  
Allen ignores him, "...I'm going to finish..."  
The blast catches Bruce off guard as he feels the bullet enter his leg, he had had enough.  
"...what I star-"  
Bruce dives straight into the crazed thug's chest, knocking him down onto the snow cushioned street with a silent roar.  
Allen still clutches the pistol until Bruce twists his hand and snaps his wrist with a crunch that echoes louder than the gunshot.  
He roughly clasps the handcuffs over the stunned criminal's wrists and delivers a quick kick to the side of his head.  
Blood is oozing down his leg as Bruce limps back to Joker.  
The clown had managed to drag himself away from the fight and into the alcove of a nearby abandoned church where he lies face down in a scarlet drift.  
Bruce kneels painfully beside him, carefully rolling the shuddering man over onto his back, "Joker can you hear me?"  
The pale skin is a dusky grey color and Bruce notices with alarm how the Joker's lips have turned blue.  
"JOKER!"  
A small moan escapes the madman and yet his eyes remain closed, the thick black lashes catching the falling snowflakes.  
"Damn it. Joker answer me."  
Bruce orders, yanking off his cape and pressing it over the wound.  
Slowly Joker opens his glazed eyes, his breath short and hiccupping as he lays a trembling hand once again over Bruce's, "You're hurt."  
"It's nothing."  
"That bastard will have me to reckon with..." Joker snaps, a hint of his wild spunk still hinting at his voice.  
"Don't talk, save your strength." Bruce orders, reaching for his con to get in touch with Alfred. Why was the Batmobile taking so long?  
"Poor Harls must be...worried sick I'm not home yet." Joker murmurs watching the steady fall of the snow outside of the alcove.  
"Yes Master Bruce? Is everything alright?"  
Bruce continues to hold his cape in place as he answers, "No, Joker's taken a gunshot to the stomach and I've got one in the leg. I've been radioing the Batmobile but it doesn't seem like it's picking up my signal." He looks grimly up at the moist bricks overhead, "Get ahold of Gordon if you can, I don't know how much time we have left."  
He feels a small tug at his arm and looks down, Joker gives him a faint smile, "You've always been my best friend Batsy."  
Bruce cuts the con and slips a careful arm under his enemy's thin shoulders, drawing him upright against his chest as Joker struggles for air.  
"Help will be here soon."  
"You're the only one who understands me," Joker says turning to gaze up into the Dark Knight's stoic features, "I'll miss our dances."  
"We'll still have more dances to do after you recover and break out of Arkham for the hundredth time." Bruce says quickly as Joker slumps loosely in the crook of his elbow with a bitter smile, strength gone.  
"Thanks for everything Batsy."  
"No! You stay awake!" Bruce explodes giving the rag doll body a firm shake, "Stay awake Joker."  
"What's this? Emotional are we?" Joker cackles through a mouthful of blood.  
"You're not getting off this easy."  
Joker grins at Bruce, "Oh Batsy, we both knew this day was coming. We knew it from the very b-beginning."  
"It's not ending like this!"  
"Not exactly what I'd had in mind either." Joker sighs giving Bruce's chin a light tap, "I guess we could call this our one bad day together."  
Joker's head lolls to the side and Bruce gently slips a supporting hand beneath his cold cheek as the Clown Prince asks quietly, "Take care of Harley for me, she's a good kid. Deserves a good life."  
"I will."  
"I do...love her you know. I don't express it well but we have something." Joker wheezes, closing his eyes momentarily in a grimace of pain, "See she gets a fresh start."  
"I'll do what I can."  
"I-I guess I should apologize for all the damage I've done shouldn't I?" Joker rambles, the warmth steadily leaving his body with each passing second, "But then again, where's the fun in that?"  
A familiar black shape turns onto the street followed closely by a squad car as Joker lays his head against Bruce's chest like a small child, whispering, "Jack."  
"What?" Bruce asks searching the emerald eyes of his enemy and friend and finding them for once devoid of all traces of insanity.  
Joker gives him a finial grin, "My name is Jack Napier."  
The Batmobile pulls to a stop and Gordon climbs from the squad car as Joker exhales a shuddering breath and closes his eyes.  
Bruce sits stunned on the church steps, Joker's limp body cradled gently in his arms as the sweat on the Clown Prince's forehead cools.  
"Batman are you okay?" Gordon asks, his glasses reflecting Bruce's grieved eyes.  
"His name was Jack. After all these years, it was just Jack."  
Gordon stands quietly as Bruce carries Joker over to the Batmoblie and lays him gently inside; draping his blood soaked cape over the body with care.  
"I'll take care of the burial Commissioner."

A narrow granite headstone marked the patch of newly turned snow in a quiet corner of Gotham Cemetery. Bruce Wayne stood silent over the grave, his black coat dusted on the shoulders with white.  
Jack Napier  
Husband. Father. Friend.

His friend. He had denied it but it was painfully clear now; Joker had truly been his closest friend. They were on opposite poles and yet the same.  
He stoops and lays the purple roses against the black marker,  
"Thanks Jack."  
He turns, leaving the two headstones together, Jack and Jeannie.  
He would come back to visit.  
Turning his face upwards Bruce spots the familiar signal lighting up the sky above.  
As he dons his suit he cannot help but grieve silently, his dances were over, and he was alone.

~Fin 


End file.
